


Under The Summer Rain

by koakuma_tsuri



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward First Times, Developing Relationship, M/M, Nipple Play, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koakuma_tsuri/pseuds/koakuma_tsuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin came to England to play cricket and never thought he'd end up with a boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under The Summer Rain

Kevin came to England to play cricket. Nothing else. The country is the forefront of the sport. Perhaps not _the best_ but they bred the greatest players. The country runs in his blood albeit a bit diluted, and he wants to see if whatever is in the air over here works for him. He came to England to play cricket and never did the thought of _romance_ cross his mind.

He had girlfriends back in South Africa, mostly because he has elder brothers who teased him for being single and because it was somewhat _expected_ of him. He spends his time almost permanently in the company of boys his age, and in his teens, and coming from a strictly religious family, apparently rumours had started in some circles.

So he got himself a girlfriend, easily from his face and physique, but he had little interest in her. If he is brutally honest (which he is), he held _no_ interest in her. And she had come to realise that; realise that every moment he wasn’t at school or doing chores, he was out with the boys playing rugby, swimming with his brothers or playing that all-important cricket long after dark.

Nothing had progressed from awkward hand-holding that she had always initiated and she was gone within the month. So was the next girl, and the next.

One night, staying up late listening to the commentary of an Ashes Test on the radio with his younger brother, Kevin had mused aloud if he was interested in _anything_ but cricket. Bryan had laughed and elbowed him in the ribs and rather than say the clichéd _“you’re just waiting for the right girl_ ” said “maybe you’re just sportssexual, you freak.”

It made sense, and for a while it calmed his mind. He could focus on his games; focus on convincing his parents to finance a summer season in England, playing club cricket in a county north of London.

 And he is doing spectacularly well in his new surroundings. He could drown his homesickness in the game and when he isn’t playing, he’s working in a pub not far from the club grounds.

A far from glamorous job, but it brings in enough money for him to pay for food and lodging. The regulars tend to be the type of Brits he used to see on the TV in South Africa; the type his Mother assured him aren’t really real. The type that sit down of an evening, drink themselves to a stupor and then amble out of the door leaving a mess behind them. But it’s a job and Kevin’s the type of kid to put his head down and work rather than whine and get nothing.

Everything changed when a group of teens rolled in early one evening. They consisted of a few boys that played with him at the club and some of their friends he recognised from spectating, supporting and occasionally heckling the boys from rival schools or clubs. He hadn’t been in the club long enough to know them well, but still they wave him over and because it’s a quiet night, the landlady lets him off.

And that’s the first time Kevin met him. _Alastair_ , a mutual friend announced, “ _He’s one of the enemy too,”_ and Kevin assumed that meant that the boy was also South African. When he asked, perhaps a little too excitably (but he’s secretly worried of losing his accent and therefore opening himself up to further teasing when he gets back to Durban), Alastair just laughed and explained that he’s recently moved from a different village but knows the boys because they’ve gone to the same school for years.

He’s the first boy Kevin’s ever met that has simply fascinated him. His face still youthful but taking on such masculinity in its bone structure. The tan to his skin is even and natural and suits his dark features so well that Kevin thinks he must be some teenage model, or maybe he’s an actor. He was delighted to hear that Alastair’s joined their club and that he had been the best batsman in his last. Ordinarily, Kevin’s attention would have been entirely fixated on that: the cricket; the thought of bowling to this boy or working together on batting techniques because he is desperate to enhance his game as an All-Rounder, but instead Kevin just smiled because it meant that he would get to spent more time with Alastair.

That night, they bonded over cricket and the others left them to it, for the most part. And after they agreed to disagree over the best way to play an Off-Break, they started to chat about themselves. Alastair’s a year younger than him, freshly 16 last Christmas, and his second love is music. His humour is a little off-the-wall and he holds little interest in pop culture, just like him. When they exchanged phone numbers at the end of the night, Kevin wondered when would be the soonest acceptable time for him to send a text.

When they parted ways at the doors of the pub, Alastair looked at him with his large, dark eyes glittering in the streetlight above them and said, “See you later,” and it wasn’t a hollow pleasantry or even a flippant goodbye but an actual _promise_ and Kevin felt a novel pang in his stomach of excitement.

“Training tomorrow,” Kevin replied, intending on grinning coolly and hoping he’d achieved it, to play it cool when he felt like he was boiling inside. Everything felt so new and strange and dreamy and he sworn he’d fallen asleep during one of his mother’s films and it was affecting his subconscious.

He laid in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling as the rain the Coach had hoped would miss them set in outside. It lashed against the window and Kevin knew that they were not going to be training at all the next day. A heavy weight of disappointment festered in his stomach. When his phone goes off, he sighed, suspecting it to be confirmation of his thoughts.

It was not. It was Alastair. He snapped the phone up and hastily read the message.

_Want to do something tomorrow? Either after training or during it? Not sure how I’d feel batting underwater. Lol_

Would it be too strange for him to reply immediately? Would Alastair realise that he was up at this time because he’s been thinking of him? Trying to understand him? Trying to understand what it is about him that makes Kevin feel so… _alive_? He’s not just a sportsman anymore. For the first time, Kevin felt like a _teenager_ who wants to be a cricketer.

By the time he stopped deliberating five or ten minutes had passed so he replied:

_You try bowling! Water totally kills my spin. But yeah, what have you got in mind?_

Training wasn’t cancelled as they managed to convince the Vicar that it was completely safe to let them use the Parish Rooms for fielding practice. It was a morning spent laughing as the ball rebounded madly off the walls when it was missed, creating an utter frenzy of bodies trying to get it before it smashed one of the vases of flowers they had had to push against a wall.

But it was not just that that made Kevin laugh. He felt more comfortable in the group now, oddly. Even after one night… it was the first time he’d ever socialised with them for long outside of cricket and… being closer to Alastair felt like he wasn’t such an outsider anymore, not just _the good South African geezer_ but an actual friend.

Afterwards, he and Alastair peeled away for some lunch in the little café across the village green. And then that evening he found himself walking Alastair home because they were reluctant to stop talking but Alastair’s mum wouldn’t stop texting him to come home. He was invited in and he appreciated a good, home-cooked meal as much as the family environment he’s missed.

When Alastair said he had two brothers, Kevin wasn’t exactly expecting it to feel just like his own house did at home. There were constant squabbles, but it is clear everyone gets along. He couldn’t help but feel that the Cooks kept on watching him though like they were sizing him up. A bit more than curious, yet more open than cautious.

When Alastair’s dad offered him a lift back to his lodging, Kevin wearily accepted. He expected a grilling (though he’s not sure _why_ ), but instead the only questions he was asked were about his bowling, and whether or not he’d be able to give Alastair a few pointers about facing Spin.

They trained together more after that. A lot more. Even on their free weekends, Alastair pulled him out to bat against and Kevin took him back to the café for a drink and slice of cake. He only realised that it had become a _thing_ when he walked up to the till and the owner just said, “The usual?”

He’s been taking time out from cricket, _making_ time for Alastair and before long Kevin starts listening in to their conversations and notices how little they talk of their sport anymore. He doesn’t want to change that. It’s perfect just the way it is. Alastair is not an average boy, not that Kevin understood _why_ , so he wouldn’t treat him like one.

Two weeks later, obviously when the others had seen them leave training together enough times, that mutual friend that had introduced them pulled Kevin aside and said curiously, “You know he’s gay, right?”

Kevin didn’t know what to feel. He wasn’t surprised, but supposed he should be repulsed. That’s what his father had taught him anyway; what he had grown up being told every Sunday. Yet he wasn’t. He found himself… relieved. Excited? Overjoyed? No, maybe just… happy.

He’s in a different country on his own. He finally has a chance to be his own person without the omnipresent glare of his father or the whispers of his brothers and their friends. Kevin chose to be whatever person he is with Alastair, because that person he’s seen himself become is one he likes.

Never once did he bring that mutual friend’s words up in conversation. Kevin felt like it would be rude, or sound like some accusation, or that maybe he thinks Alastair’s taking an interest in him for the “wrong” reasons. Maybe Alastair just is genuinely looking at him as a friend… but his eyes always sparkle at him, and he smiles at him in a way Kevin doesn’t see him smile at their friends. He simply asked one day, “Have you been in a relationship before?”

Alastair has had a boyfriend before. His name was Freddie and Alastair doesn’t like talking about it, so Kevin doesn’t ask. He didn’t bother mentioning his girlfriends because they just _weren’t_. Instead Kevin asked him – and he _still_ doesn’t know where the words had come from – if he could be Alastair’s next boyfriend and he just grinned so widely that Kevin knew what the answer was before it was even said.

On the way back to Alastair’s house that afternoon, the smaller boy reached for his hand and twined their fingers together. Unlike all those times his girlfriends had done in back in Durban, Kevin’s first and only instinct is to squeeze. He can’t recall his hand ever feeling so warm, or the whole of him tingle with giddiness.

Kevin really doesn’t know what’s happening to him and it’s such a beautiful feeling, just for once, being helpless but feeling so _safe_.

Two weeks later, they kissed for the first time. Just a little thing, but the first contact of their lips so Kevin knows he’ll never forget it. After a meal together in the pub after Kevin finished work, he walked Alastair back home. Their hands were still clasped tightly and Alastair had smiled again. Kevin had come to openly accept that he’s the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, and in the soft light of his porch, Alastair looked positively angelic. And the kiss just _happened_.

Hardly the fireworks-and-orchestra moment those cheesy films his mum watches had led him to believe it would be. Their noses had collided initially and Kevin didn’t bend down enough so Alastair was perched on tip toes and Kevin had absolutely _no_ idea where to put his hands because where they were between there bodies was so close to his groin he was terrified that his hormones would jump at the chance to kick in an embarrass him.

It felt so right though. And in that moment Kevin was ready to scream to the world that he, too, is gay.

“Can’t you stay the winter?”

Kevin turns his head sharply, jerking out of his reverie, to find Alastair looking at him from the other side of the bed. They were watching some rubbish film to pass the time because a squall of a late-summer storm was sweeping the village and training had truly been cancelled after they had accidently smashed a window last time they played in the Parish Rooms.

With his back against the wall, Kevin stretches out, feeling like he’s been sat for hours thinking over this most eventful summer of his life. His feet reach the middle of Alastair’s thighs and he playfully taps a beat against them with his toes. “I want to,” the shine that takes to the other’s face almost convinces Kevin to just say _yes_.

He could ring his parents and just say he is staying indefinitely. They wouldn’t begrudge him that… they might ask why though, and Kevin doesn’t quite know how to tell them that he’s gotten himself a boyfriend he wants to be with. He knows his father would be on the first plane over and would drag him back to Durban by the scruff of his neck if he said that. And he would never be allowed to come to England again.

“But I’d like to see my family, too.”

Alastair’s lips twist downwards, but he doesn’t sulk. Kevin’s never seen him sulk. Not that he’s really in the habit of denying him anything. They’re still in that golden period of a teenage relationship to have fights. “I guess so.”

Nudging his sock-clad feet against Alastair’s jeans again, Kevin offers a smile that’s meant to be comforting but he knows that it shows his reluctance to leave. They’ve got another five weeks together before the English season is done. It feels like they only have days. Because _years_ still don’t feel like enough,

“You’ll come back though, right?” Alastair curls his hands around Kevin’s ankles and strokes up his legs. Suddenly the choice to wear shorts that morning doesn’t seem like such a stupid idea. He loves the feel of Alastair’s hands on his bare skin, though it’s pretty much always been his cheeks and arms.

Those hands keep on trailing up and down his legs, a firm caress that has Kevin remember the _desire_ he had so far refused to indulge. As teenagers, they’ve had every temptation to throw caution to the wind and do what it seemed all their friends were doing with their girlfriends.

But Kevin’s still new to the thought of being with someone. He’s still coming to terms with being gay. It’s only when he’s with Alastair that he feels completely fearless… but with sex… it’s something much _more_. They’re still learning how to kiss each other without it becoming something they end up laughing into. It’s only been four weeks since that first time.

“Of course,” he murmurs, flicking his gaze up from Alastair’s hands to his dark eyes.

The boy smiles, but it’s still so sorrowful, and pushes himself away from the wall he leans against. “April, right?” Alastair says as he switches the TV off and casts the remote to the floor. He shuffles across the bed and kneels between Kevin’s legs. “We can have a full six months together, right?”

“Of course,” Kevin says again and silently hopes that it happens. He’s not the only son his parents have to support, after all, but for this beautiful face before him, Kevin will do everything in his power to get back here. “Maybe you could come to Africa that winter, bat against some proper pace.”

Alastair laughs and cups his hands around Kevin’s cheeks. “Maybe I could bat against some proper _spin_ too.”

Scoffing but chuckling all the same, Kevin lunges forward and catches that beaming mouth with his own. His nose only just misses Alastair’s, but it’s good enough. Alastair’s lips part enough that he can slip his tongue inside and do all those things they’ve discovered over the last few weeks that Alastair likes. He makes such cute noises and moves on the mattress: his knees kneading like a cat’s paws do in pleasure. Kevin sets his hands upon the other’s lean hips as he usually does and squeezes them when Alastair’s hands slide down from his cheeks.

Every other time, they’d go down his shoulders; down his arms and maybe back up again if they were still kissing. Though by that stage, Kevin would had snorted in an embarrassingly loud breath through his nose and Alastair would laugh at him, full well knowing that if it wasn’t Kevin, it would be him to do it. But today is the first day Alastair’s hands go down his chest.

Light fingertips rub against the soft blue cotton of his T-shirt, curiously feeling their way down and something _changes_. It’s like an electric shock runs through him, strange and powerful. Kevin inhales sharply, and Alastair pulls away with that same mischievous giggle.

“No,” Kevin blurts out. “That… that was…good.”

Alastair’s dark eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head. He raises his hands once more, putting them on Kevin’s chest again. The T-shirt is thin enough that his nipples are prominent and looking down, he watches as Alastair’s fingers curiously get closer to them.

He’s not ready for the sensation when they finally get there. Alastair gently circles them, just a feather-light touch that shortens Kevin’s breath. It tingles through him, both up to his head and down to his groin in a way that should terrify him but it’s so delightful that he doesn’t ask Alastair to stop like he had before, when Alastair had rubbed his thigh against the underside of Kevin’s crotch the other day as they kissed. And just like then, he feels himself growing hard. _Impossibly hard_.

“They’re really sensitive, huh?” Alastair asks quietly. He never once moves away. His fingers keep on circling, rubbing just a little harder now.

He can only nod, biting his lip and enjoy how such a simple thing is making him so lightheaded.

Kevin doesn’t open his mouth for fear of the moans he can feel clamouring in his throat escaping. Alastair’s parents are downstairs and they don’t know. His brothers suspect something, Alastair had said, but he had added that they would never tell even if they _knew_.  Still, this is hardly something Kevin can broadcast to the world. Not yet anyway.

He watches as Alastair licks his lips. It’s the thing he does whenever he’s getting an idea that Kevin will either love or chastise him for. With the way he’s feeling now, Kevin knows it’s going to be the former. Definitely the former. Those lovely fingers break from his nipples to slide down his stomach and curl around the hem of his shirt.

Ordinarily, this is when he’d ask Alastair to stop again, but he’s too far gone now. Maybe his hormones have seized control of his mind, or maybe he genuinely wants to continue feeling like this, or maybe he’s ready to learn more about his own body with someone else. The times he’d explored himself alone in his room, either here or back home in Africa, this nipples had never been so electric.

Kevin helps Alastair pull his shirt off and rests back against the wall, stroking his thumbs into the smaller teen’s clavicle. That face looks feline in its intensity and it’s the same expression that had been worn when there was a thigh rubbing against his groin and it’s an expression that reminds Kevin that he’s not the first boyfriend Alastair’s had.

Over the weeks they’d been _together_ , Alastair has opened up enough to confess he’d had sex a few times, and that Freddie had been four years older, a skilled All-Rounder at his previous club, and whilst he was as gentle as he could have been (he had spoken so softly about it that the only thing Kevin had felt was _jealous_ , like he was somehow a third wheel in his own relationship), it was still awkward and painful. It’s just one more reason that steeled Kevin’s resolve that they wouldn’t have sex until they were _completely_ ready. And if that is September next year, then so be it. He’s heard of couples going years before they get there and Kevin is loathe to do it just because they’ve only got five weeks and end up regretting it because it was just too soon.

Kevin can only watch, thrumming with anticipation, excitement and want as Alastair bends at the waist. There’s nothing that could prepare him for those butter-soft, warm lips pressing against one nipple. It’s so much _more_ than his fingers, because it’s against his bare flesh and because it’s Alastair’s _mouth_.

“Oh, _God_ ,” he groans quietly. If his mother knew she’d _kill_ him, and maybe he’s already going to hell but it’s so damn _good_ he doesn’t care. Then Alastair opens his mouth and the wet heat goes straight to his head and Kevin _wants_ to go to hell if it feels like this.

He finds his hands in Alastair’s unruly black hair and cards restlessly through it. Alastair’s left hand curls around his waist, but doesn’t stay there for long. His finger and thumb lightly pinch the neglected nipple, making Kevin gasp and press his head back into the wall with a muffled bump.

“Ali,” he moans under his breath and stares up at the ceiling. He bets that face looks so beautiful. He bets that those long, dark eyelashes look so good fanned against his cheekbones and how he would look with his mouth open and tongue out, licking around puckered bronze flesh… Kevin’s not so innocent that he hasn’t dreamed of Alastair in such a way before, though usually that mouth is much _lower_ and he’s definitely not so innocent that he hasn’t jerked himself off to the thought of it before. He has never _told_ Alastair that though.

“Oh, _God_ ,” he repeats a little louder, uncontrollable, when Alastair closes his lips back around the nub and suckles it. Kevin’s teeth bite into his bottom lip as he tries to hold back a curse, but the fricative hisses from him. And he feels heat pool so tightly in his groin he knows what’s coming. “Ali, _Ali_ ,” he whispers urgently and tries to push him away.

But Alastair only parts enough that he can move his lips to talk. His cool breath still washes over the moistness he’s made of Kevin’s nipples and it’s like he hasn’t moved at all. “You gonna come?”

“Yeah,” Kevin groans. He feels frozen to the spot, so tense in trying to stop his body’s natural reaction to this stimulus. “I—I don—”

“Do it,” he glances up for a second, eyes so hazy with lust and need and he’s almost _begging_ Kevin without those words. In the back of his mind, Kevin understands why. In those filthy dreams of his, the main focus had been sharing pleasure, _giving_ it. When the time comes, when he’s ready, Kevin will relish the beauty that will be Alastair in orgasm… he cannot find it within himself to deny his boyfriend that now even if his body wasn’t threatening to decide for him anyway. “Do it, baby,”

And with that, he wraps his lips back around Kevin’s nipple and sucks a little harder as his tongue flicks at it. He can’t even _think_ of analysing the sensation, to understand it, only know that it is doing wonderfully intense things to him. And he watches Alastair’s face as the heat in his gut starts to boil. The pleasure upon it, so enchantingly gorgeous he won’t ever forget it. In the long months they’ll have to spend apart, it’ll remain fresh in his mind.

Kevin presses the back of one hand to his mouth as he comes. That gasp of an inhale would have been a loud moan had he not caught it in time. Eyes squeezed shut, he frowns with the strain of having to keep quiet. He jerks upwards, pulling Alastair tight to his chest and shivers as that tongue only slows as he rides through the orgasm.

“Fuck, Ali,” he finally says, still gasping and rocking his hips, “ _God_ , baby, stop it.”

Kevin feels those lips curl into a smirk momentarily before they pull away. Moments later, that mouth is back against his own, kissing sweet and softly like they had started out doing not so long ago.

“I am so turned on right now I think I’m going to die,” Alastair murmurs against his chin. He shuffles awkwardly on his knees and when Kevin pushes him away to curiously inspect him, he has never seen Alastair’s jeans so tight.

He bites his lip, mind running at the speed of light weighing up his options. He doesn’t want to rush into things, yet he had just let Alastair bring him to climax. He doesn’t want to ruin this budding relationship they have like he’s heard others have just _wilted_ after a situation like this… but he also wants to thank Alastair for what he has just done. He wants to return the pleasure, and see it painted across that unforgettable face.

It doesn’t have to be sex…. If they keep their clothes on, and if Kevin somehow manages to not get aroused by this (when hell freezes over), then they’ll be okay. He’s just about to lay his hand over Alastair’s bulge when a knock on the door has the smaller teen jump a mile up and backwards.

The door cracks open an inch and Kevin’s ploy is to play completely cool and act like he’s just sat on his _friend’s_ bed shirtless and flushed because that’s what friends do. And he hopes that Alastair’s elder brother is the mature, responsible, caring one and will elect to ignore what he sees. “Oi, you two coming down for dinner or what?”


End file.
